


that all the world will be in love with night

by princehal



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012), The Hollow Crown - Fandom, William Shakespeare - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehal/pseuds/princehal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tw: alcohol, very slight violence<br/>rating: later chapters will be decidedly nc-17 </p><p>
  <em> "This is definitely the stupidest idea we’ve ever had"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Which is why," Hal replies, stripping several rockets from their binding, "It’s definitely going to be the most entertaining.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	that all the world will be in love with night

The stars cut themselves into the night sky, cold and sparse as stone. Clouds had long since been unfurled and swept away, and icy candour reigned in the streets of London.

_Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot…_

Children’s words, laced with a gleaming edge of malice. They echoed through Hal’s mind, familiar and easy as the alphabet, as he and Ned lay sprawled across his four poster, working their way through a crate of champagne. He was a little aware of them later, as the two stumbled to the balcony, shouting old nirvana songs to the gold and silver lights beyond. Somewhere between twelve and one, the easy flick of Ned’s lighter and the drifting curls of smoke that followed reminded him again. Snickering, he placed a hand on Ned’s, half smiling as he whispered in his ear, eyes ablaze, pulse quick.

Their footsteps murmured across the hall, down the stairs, out the back. Dark coats pulled about them did little to fend off the dark night, but their energy was vibrant, hot, beating. All along the mall, they raced, the evenings revelries coursing through their veins. Hal stumbled, fell, and watched Ned hare past, whooping, from the grit. The air was shot through with glittering laughter.

Across the square, under the golden beam of Big Ben, they affected some little decorum. Ned clutched at Hal’s arm as they stifled giggles, dodging bright red buses and late night pedestrians. Their London blurred by in a incandescent stream. Hal kept his face low, and Ned bit his lip to keep from laughing at the game.

At the gates, quick ID flashed, serious stories delivered, policemen raising eyebrows as Hal tried to casually lean on the gate post. He’s the fucking prince of England though, so they let him amble through, Ned in tow.

At this time, the halls of Westminster are almost deserted. Ned yelled expletives from the very centre of one echoing room, and Hal had to drag him away. They were grinning, two naughty children playing truant, pockets bursting with contraband.

_Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot._

"Here!" Hal beckons to Ned, leading him into a smaller antechamber, through it to a narrow corridor beyond. Ever quick on his feet, Ned darts after him, bright eyed.

"Hal!"

The crown prince spun on his heel, running a hand through his curling hair. Leaning back against a cold wall, Ned snickers.

"You look like a fucking disney princess"

"Oh, I aim to please". Hal grins, pausing for breath. "Tonight, though… A slightly different movie homage".

"And you’re sure about this? I mean," Ned waves a dismissive hand through the air, shrugs. "As far as high jinks go, it’s decidedly more, uh, Fight Club than Harry Potter, no?"

"Absolutely". Hal darts across the corridor, plants a hand either side of Ned, pinning him to the wall. "and I am definitely going to beat your pretty little face to a bloody pulp, just because I can". A half smile curves his lips as he whispers in Ned’s ear. He can feel Ned chuckle, feel his fingers trace lightly up his chest.

"Oh god, I’m trembling at the very thought", he murmurs mockingly, his dark hair falling in his eyes.

Hal laughs, presses his body up against his slighter friend. He lets one hand slip from the wall, follow the curve of Ned’s cheek, wraps his fingers about his throat.

"Can you imagine," he breaths, his voice low, "If I fucked you, right here, in the very heart of the nation?" He can hear Ned swallow, their faces but inches apart. "England would crumble," he murmurs, light eyes searching Ned’s dark ones.

"My Lord," mock obsequious, as ever, Ned moves a fraction closer, his lips ghosts against Hal’s as he whispers, "So would I". Their mutual grins are mutually felt, and laughter pours from the pair as Hal stumbles backwards, Ned landing in an ungainly heap atop him. "The game’s afoot!" Ned cries, landing a playful punch on Hal’s shoulder before leaping to his feet and sprinting away. "Hal! The game and all that, come the fuck on!"

The lights of London sparkle on the thames, visible in snatches through the windows as they race through the Houses of Parliament, climbing winding stair after winding stair. When they burst, panting, out onto the rooftop, a light rain has begun to fall, and in their inebriated state it is as if the whole world glimmers.

"Fairy dust! It’s raining fucking fairy dust" Ned laughs, head thrown back and arms open wide. Hal shakes raindrops from his hair, still gasping for breath. The rains hisses softly on the rooftop and the bustle of parliament square mutters in the background. Hal is bent double, hands on his knees, and Ned flings himself to the ground, leans against the battlements. There’s a brief moment of silence between them. Ned pulls a pack of marlboro lights from his pocket. lights up and gazes out over the city. Against the rain, the smoke rolls up into the sky blue and forgetful, teasing and careless. "You ready, mate?" Ned turns, catches Hal’s eye.

"Yeah", Hal sits beside Ned, pulls a plethora of fireworks from his coat pockets. Ned snorts, tosses his lighter to the top of the pile. "This is definitely the stupidest idea we’ve ever had".

"Which is why," Hal replies, stripping several rockets from their binding, "It’s definitely going to be the most entertaining. Here", he divides the brightly coloured devils between them, clambering back to his feet. "We’re gonna have to fucking  _peg it_ out if here once these go off”. Ned glances up at his comrade in arms, sees Hal grinning. Raising his eyebrows, he nods affirmation. “Damn straight my friend. You got your breath back?”

"Breathing, yeah. Never been better".

"In that case," Ned flicks his cigarette away, catching the spark with his heel as his stands up. "I might have to remedy that".

He catches Hal’s wrist with one hand, the other sliding up his neck as he crushes their lips together. Their lips are hard, cold, and the taste of cigarettes and sugar and alcohol burns on their tongues as they press against each other, bright stars in the heaving night. Breaking apart, Ned grins.

"Ready?"

Hal’s breath clouds in the air before them, and Ned can see something, something, behind those honeyed eyes.

“ _Ready_ ”.

At the same second, in the same heartbeat, they spring apart, gathering a pile each, sprinting in opposite directions down the roof, dropping a gaudy firework every few steps. They pass at the top, and Hal tosses Ned’s lighter through the air, Ned just grabbing it before it spins out of sight.

"You absolute twat!", he roars, before dashing on. Hal’s line is already fizzing in the background, and it is with nimble fingers that Ned manages to set alight to each of his own in quick succession. Gasping for breath, he stumbles over to where Hal waits, as screaming rocket after screaming rocket burst forth and pierce the sky, all the colours of the rainbow.

"Come on! We have approximately fucking zero seconds to get out of here before all the bloody police in England descend on us". Hal grabs Ned’s arm, pulls him back.

"Wait one second. I want to remember this".

He yanks a battered iphone forth, thumbs through to the camera. It flashes once, twice, a row of twilight explosions burning across the screen. Ned laughs, spins on the spot before the lens, pulling grotesque faces as the rain continues to fall around them. Breathless with laughter, Hal pulls Ned toward him, the camera flash blinding them as they’re captured both together.

"Now," Hal mutters, stuffing his phone away, tone serious. "We run?"

"We fucking run". Each catches the other’s eye as they grin, mischief abounding.

And they’re gone, darting down the fire escape, sniggering and stumbling on the rain slicked rungs as 30 armed policemen charge up through the building. Once in the street, they collapse, howling, as catherine wheels shriek in the air above and police and news vans screech in the streets around. 

Big Ben stands sentinel above the incandescent chaos as the pair clutch at each other, pushing through the press and the tourists. Prince Henry and some dark haired elvin shit, soaked through by rain and grinning like demons as they make their way through the crowd. Bulb after bulb pops in their eyes as Hal’s earlier, futile attempts to hide his face are forgotten, and Ned yells into his phone as they struggle, calling a car, a fucking speedboat, anything. As they reach the street edge, a shining black car purrs to a halt before them, a door is flung open and they fall inside, hands snatching at their clothes as they pull away from the baying mass of tourists and late night revelers. As the car accelerates away, Big Ben solemnly sounds the hour.

"3 o’clock in the morning and all’s well…" Ned murmurs, kicking his legs up onto the back of the seat before him, head lolling onto Hal’s shoulder. "Yes… " replies Hal absently, gazing at the rain soaked streets as they barrel along.

The woman in the front seat clears her throat, glance at the debauched pair in the rear view mirror. “Sir. I believe it would be - ahem - _best_ if I were to return you to the palace, and your… friend… can also be seen to. One of the other cars can deliver him safely home”.

"No… no no no," Hal pushes himself upright, knocking a disgruntled Ned aside. "The palace, yeah, but Ned’s staying with me at the moment. Father knows." He flings himself back onto the plush leather, folds his arms. "It’s… fine. Wonderful, even."

The driver pulls around Trafalgar Square, the fountains glimmering red and blue and yellow in the background. The woman sighs, frowns. “Are you sure that would be prudent, sir? Please, bear in mind that there are at least three news fans following the car as we speak”.

"I am the Prince of England, my dear. It’s the least I can do to ensure we sell some fucking newspapers".

Silence falls, Ned stifling his laughter in the sleeve of his coat. Some short moments later, they pull up behind the palace, and the woman twists to direct the two in the back.

"Brace yourselves, boys. They’re flesh eaters".  

"Abso-fucking… just…", Ned shakes his head, sleep and liquor clouding his thoughts. "Bring it".

Hal nods. “Sir?” The woman throws a pointed glance at the leather seat, where Ned and Hal’s fingers lie, entwined. “Oh. Right. Game faces, eh, Ned?”

And so they stumble separately from the car, journalists pressed against the black metal framework surrounding the palace as they disappear inside.

The vast and carpeted splendour of the hallway sucks away all the sound. The woman nods, tight lipped, before disappearing into the labyrinth of flower filled and jewel bedecked rooms.  
Everything here is still, silent. Yawning, the pair amble through the building, clamber grand staircases, nodding at various, sleep deprived staff.

Finally, unbearably, Hal’s silent room awaits them. The heavy curtains have been pulled shut, oppressive, and the damage of their early sports has been cleared away. Ned falls onto the bed, and Hal tears the curtains back, yanks the windows open. The blare of the street beyond filters into the room, and a cold breeze catches the back of his neck as he turns away.

Ned is sprawled across his sumptuous red bedspread, hair disheveled, collar open, cigarette between his lips. “Turn the fucking lights out, Hal”, he commands, stuffing an overly elaborate pillow under his head.

Hal smiles, acquiesces, flings himself onto the bed beside his partner in crime. “You”, Ned mutters, “Are going to be in so much heaven sent shit tomorrow”.

"Y’know, I’d deny it, but there’s really no point". Hal agrees, tossing his coat and boots aside. In the quiet dark, he closes his eyes, lies down, head spinning. "Wasn’t much else to do though, really". 

The last thing he hears, as the world tilts and sleep pulls him under, is Ned’s grinning voice whispering, _"For Harry, England, and St George, my sweet Lord… For Harry, England, and Saint-fucking-George"._

 


End file.
